


Horus, Presiding

by Antiquity



Series: Rosetta Stone [2]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Bokuto Koutarou & Kuroo Tetsurou are Bros, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Late Night Phone Calls, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-28
Updated: 2020-04-28
Packaged: 2021-03-02 02:20:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,589
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23887336
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Antiquity/pseuds/Antiquity
Summary: “Huh?” is all he can manage, the screen too bright in the darkness of their bedroom to even see the caller.“Koutarou,” and it sounds devastated.The last time Koutarou’s best friend sounded like this, he’d come home after a massive fight with Tsukishima to find the apartment empty of all the salty bastard’s belongings. God, what fresh hell is this?(But everything turns out fine, mostly because Akaashi Keiji said it would. Who is Koutarou to argue?)
Relationships: Akaashi Keiji/Bokuto Koutarou, Kuroo Tetsurou/Tsukishima Kei
Series: Rosetta Stone [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1721578
Comments: 16
Kudos: 216





	Horus, Presiding

**Author's Note:**

> You didn't think I would stay away from this AU, did you? ;) 
> 
> If you don't want to read the other work(s) in the series, though, just know that Kuroo is a detective investigating a murder where his ex works, and Tsukishima's been injured (he'll be fine!). So please enjoy Bokuto being Best Boy and Akaashi Dealing With Things At Ungodly Hours With His Usual Pizzazz. 
> 
> Standing ovation to Ladyriver and adayofjoy for beta-ing and being generally enthusiastic and wonderful <3

Koutarou’s dancing with a fairy version of the main character of the show he went to sleep thinking about when the ballroom starts to buzz.

“It’s the Clow Card!” Sakura says, transforming in a magnificent _poof!_ of pink. “Use your quirk to capture it!”

“I’ll get it for you,” Koutarou assures her, pulling out his Poké ball, before following the sound up out of his dream and into reality where his phone is buzzing brightly on the nightstand. Beside him, Keiji mumbles his displeasure and turns away, huddling under the blankets. Koutarou agrees, but groggily stretches a hand out anyway, pissed off and still half asleep as he slumps back into his pillow.

“Huh?” is all he can manage, the screen too bright in the darkness of their bedroom to even see the caller.

“Koutarou,” and it sounds devastated.

Koutarou is abruptly wide awake, jerking himself upright and scrubbing at the sleep in his eyes. “Tetsu? What’s wrong?”

The last time Koutarou’s best friend sounded like this, he’d come home after a massive fight with Tsukishima to find the apartment empty of all the salty bastard’s belongings. God, what fresh hell is this?

“Kei’s been stabbed.” Tetsurou’s voice is shaking. “He’s in the hospital.”

“He’s been _what_?” Koutarou yelps, reaching over to shake Keiji awake. “Shit, is he alright?”

“Mmmmmwhat?” Keiji groans, trying to bat Koutarou’s hand away and hide further under the covers at the same time and failing at both.

“I don’t know, he’s in surgery now and his brother is his emergency contact so they won’t tell me anything. Bo, it was the murderer, the guy who killed that museum janitor, he went back to cover his tracks and Kei was there, he had him at knife point and I called and we got there just in time to see him stab Kei, fuck, there was a knife sticking out of him –”

“Koutarou, _what_?” The love of his life snarls at him, finally flipping over and seizing Koutarou’s wrist with impeccable hand-eye coordination in the darkness.

“Get up, sugar, we gotta go,” Koutarou says, flinging back his own covers and stumbling out of bed. “Tetsu, deep breaths, okay, bro? If he’s in surgery, the hospital knows what they’re doing. You got the guy, yeah?”

“Surgery? Hospital?” Keiji repeats, scrambling out of bed too and seizing the nearest pair of jeans he finds – they turn out to be Koutarou’s and Keiji tosses them to him before trying to unearth his own from the pile at the foot of the bed.

“Tsukki’s been stabbed,” Koutarou says, phone pressed between shoulder and ear as he hops around on one foot trying to pull on his pants. “Which hospital, Tetsu? Where are you?”

“West Heights,” says Tetsurou, clearly trying to control his breathing. He sounds steadier at least, and Koutarou knows how the relief of leaning on somebody else can either make you calmer or more emotional, especially since he tends to suddenly cry all the emotions his heart’s throwing at him when Keiji’s there to share the load. He’s so glad he can be that for Tetsurou, muttering nonsense into the phone while Tetsurou pulls himself together and Keiji gathers up their coats, wallets, keys and shoes.

“There you go,” Koutarou says, lacing his fingers tightly with Keiji’s as they stumble out of their apartment, clothes rumpled and most likely back to front, hair a mess and boots unlaced. “You back with me?”

“Yeah,” Tetsurou says, sounding wrung out. “Sorry.”

“Don’t even, man. We’ll be there in a few minutes so just wait for me, okay?”

“No, no, you don’t have to,” Tetsurou protests, suddenly sounding guilty. “I’m sorry, I didn’t even realise how late it was. Shit, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to bother you, and Akaashi’s got work tomorrow, so it’s fine –”

“If you hang up on me right now,” Koutarou says with all the sudden cold focus that got him a pre-invitation to Olympic tryouts, “I will tell Kenma who deleted his entire 2009 backup.”

Next to him Keiji tries to laugh through a yawn and nearly chokes, staggering into Koutarou’s side. He steadies him effortlessly, grinning at the spluttering on the other end of the phone.

“You – you bird-brained _meanie_ ,” Tetsurou huffs, and Koutarou cracks up, muffling his sniggers in his scarf as they careen as quietly as they can down the stairwell. Next month, when their lease is up, they’re moving to an apartment block whose elevator doesn’t break down whenever a butterfly flaps its wings, and he’s going to make Tetsurou carry the couch.

“Takes one to know one, catface.”

Tetsurou sighs a sigh that shakes in the middle. “It’s just…the guy’s in the cells and Tooru’s rightfully thrown me out of the office and the hospital can’t tell me anything – they don’t know anything yet – and I think I’ll go mad if I have to sit next to Akiteru being so patient and not blaming me –”

“It’s not your fault,” Koutarou barks instantly, and Keiji hushes him, squeezing his hand as they hurry across the lobby to their complex’s garage. The door down sticks a little in the cold, so Koutarou shoves it with his hip as Keiji twists the key and it pops open with a clang.

“I should have been there sooner,” Tetsurou argues, but Koutarou cuts him off.

“And the bastard shouldn’t have knifed Tsukki, and Tsukki shouldn’t have provoked him,” he counters, squeezing Keiji’s hand again before he lets go to climb into their car. Keiji was born with the uncanny knack of finding carparks close to shopping centre entrances and garage doors, and Koutarou makes sure to worship him daily, most often between his thighs. Keiji twists the ignition and puts the car into gear almost simultaneously, and as always his partner’s magnificence takes Koutarou’s breath away but this isn’t quite the moment for a soliloquy on the brilliance of one Akaashi Keiji.

“What makes you think Kei –?” Tetsurou begins, almost huffy.

“Tetsu, you marvellous idiot, you cannot tell me a universe exists where Tsukki doesn’t throw some kind of salt at a guy holding a knife on him.”

Keiji snorts, tangling his fingers with Koutarou’s on the gearshift. “It’s ninety-nine point nine percent likely, sorry.”

“See, even Keiji thinks so!”

“You both would, by the way,” Keiji points out, leaning out of his window to slap the pass against the boom gate. “Don’t think you have the moral high ground here, Koutarou. Or you’d try to challenge the guy to a dance-off or something equally ridiculous.”

“Hey!”

Tetsurou finally chuckles. It’s miles away from his usual hyena cackle, but it’s better than nothing. “Well, when you put it like that...”

“Don’t call me out like that, Keiji!” Koutarou whines. Keiji takes advantage of the next red light to lean over and brush a brief peck to Koutarou’s cheek, and he grins helplessly before turning his attention back to Tetsurou. “But everything is going to be alright, yeah? Me and Keiji are nearly there.”

“And Kuroo’s going to leave his contact details with the nurses in an official capacity and then he’s coming straight home with us to get some sleep,” Keiji commands, taking a sharp left up the main street toward the hospital. “Everything is going to work out, so there's no point in worrying.”

“And you’re going to leave your contact details with the nurses in an official capacity and then come straight home with us to get some sleep,” Koutarou parrots to Tetsurou, “and it’s on Keiji’s orders, so good luck even trying to get out of it. Everything’s going to be fine. Oikawa will deal with the paperwork, the hospital will patch your man back up, and everything will sunshine and rainbows. Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Tetsurou finally sighs, sounding like some enormous weight has been eased off his shoulders. And he doesn't react to Koutarou calling Tsukki his man, which is...probably a good sign? He's been so fucking miserable for the past two months, and only Keiji's strict non-interference policy stopped Koutarou from marching over to smack some sense into the tall streak of salt - and maybe into Tetsurou too. He might be Koutarou's best friend, but Tetsurou is too clever for his own damn good sometimes, and likes poking at things until he gets a reaction. Koutarou had laughed himself sick that time they were fifteen and Tetsurou had teased his grandmother's cat to the point where the raggedy old thing had drawn blood, tail fluffed up twice its size. Tetsurou still has the faint scars on the side of his wrist, but did he learn?

Of course not - they did it the next weekend too, till Koutarou had matching scars and Grandma had scolded them both by withholding dessert for a week. Kenma had rolled his eyes and refused to look away from his game long enough to help them stick the plasters on.

“Yeah,” Koutarou says. “We’re just finding parking, so slow count to sixty.” He squeezes Keiji’s clever fingers as his miraculous lover spins the wheel one-handed into a parking spot two rows back from the emergency department doors. “Everything’s going to be fine, okay?”

“I know,” Tetsurou replies softly. “Thanks.”

“Duh,” Koutarou retorts, letting Keiji go so they can get out of the car. The night’s cold, but the doors are brightly lit and Keiji’s leading him forward and Tetsurou’s still on the other end of the phone line and there’s nothing so bad that you can’t face it with a friend or two by your side.


End file.
